England's 30 day challenge
by KidStoleMyHeart
Summary: Thirty days. Thirty different England pairings. Can it be done? Featuring everyone's favorite Brit, plus, well, just about everyone else. Rating will change for smut in later chapters -w-
1. 2p! x 1p! England

**A/N: Halloween is over. So why not give you guys some England for November~?**

**I own nothing!**

**And as a sidenote: if you didn't know, Cupcake and Camelot are 2p! and 1p! Englandcat respectively.**

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Chapter 1. Englandcest(2px1p)

The kitchen was a favoured haven for both of the Brits. Oliver would often be found bustling about, making some sort of pastry that was most likely a new flavour. Arthur on the other hand, was usually brewing tea, or reading the most recent newspaper at the kitchen table.

Arthur tried to be secretive in eating one of Ollie's baked goods. Or, if he was caught, he would deny his obvious liking for the treat. It just made the strawberry blond smile.

Oliver on the other had, would always ask for tea when Arthur made any. With added sugar and milk to sweeten it, of course. He would try and sit with the other man too, only to be denied in favour of solitude.

On this particular day, sweet smells wafted around and delighted humming could be heard. The constant beat of a whisk was also a soothing sound.

Arthur had just woken up and was greeted by the smell of baking. He made his way downstairs, not bothering to change out of his sleepwear. He leaned on the doorframe of the door, watching his counterpart busy himself with whatever he was concocting. Oliver hadn't yet noticed him, considering his back was turned.

They stayed that way for a while, Ollie humming and mixing ingredients into a bowl and Artie watching, sometimes smiling contently. When the freckled man turned to get a pan, it was only then that he realised that a pair of emeralds were set on him. He jumped in surprise, and the events that followed could only be described as disastrous.

A large amount of the batter he held spilled onto the floor, which was soon slipped on. The rest of it splattered the floor and walls as the bowl clattered to the floor in his fall.

Oliver cracked open an eye, having him expected to fall to the floor as well. But the other blond had come to his side in a flash, wrapping one arm protectively around his waist so he wouldn't fall.

The freckled man couldn't help but stare back up at Arthur, despite the rising blush on both of their faces.

Arthur panted slightly, most likely from the rush to help his counterpart from falling. "You... should be more careful."

Oliver finally managed a teasing smile and poked the blond's nose. "Well, you shouldn't spy on people, poppet."

Artie blushed and frowned, coming up with what he could on the spot. "I-I was just here to make my morning tea."

The other let out a content hum. "Good morning, then~"

Arthur straightened, letting go of the strawberry blond, and smiled. "Good morning."

"Such a waste..." Oliver grabbed a washcloth and crouched down, beginning to clean the batter from the floor. "I'd better clean this up, then."

Arthur frowned and bent down to his level. "I should be the one to clean, I am the one that startled you after all." He reached for Oliver's hand, grasping the washcloth.

Ollie gave it up without a fight, and just watched him clean away the batter on the floor. Eventually the watching went from Arthur's hand, to his face, and over his body. He could be so sexy sometimes... Oliver blushed and shook his head, shooing away the naughty thoughts floating around in his head.

Arthur, on the hand, was getting his mind off the task at hand by watching the very cute actions of the freckled man out of the corner of his eye. He was sure that the other didn't even realise he was doing it. But the blond could only describe his counterpart as that. Absolutely adorable.

Arthur finished wiping what he could and sat up, only to come face to face with Oliver. A blush rose on both of their faces, neither sure of what to do.

A push from behind solved it. The two Brits' lips connected, in clumsy yet sweet harmony. Oliver had let out a surprised squeak, which soon turned to an elated hum. Arthur closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist to support himself. The kiss was broken after a while, due to lack of air.

Oliver panted slightly, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Light blue met green as they stared at each other.

Cupcake and Camelot sat next to each other, watching their owners. Cupcake purred, satisfied he had started the kiss. Camelot rolled his eyes and curled up on the floor, hiding his own smirk.


	2. Finland x England

**A/N: For those of you who are excited for certain pairings, even if others come first, please don't be angry ;~; I had the pairings randomized to be impartial.**

**I still own nothing~**

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Chapter 2. FinUK (Finland x UK)

Tino watched the spots of snow fall slowly from the night sky. He was almost done with delivering Christmas presents, and then he could go home and open his own present. He landed his sleigh on the roof of the destinated house and slipped down the chimney with ease.

Emerging from the fireplace caused the Finn to be covered in fresh ash. The one downside to all this, having to constantly dust off himself.

Tino placed the brightly wrapped gift under the Christmas tree. A soft snore jolted him and he looked up. A blond man sat asleep in an armchair by the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket.

Tino poked him curiously. "Mister England...?"

The Brit didn't wake. He did, however, roll over in his sleep, dragging Tino down with him.

/He's warm,/ the smaller man thought. /Almost as warm as Sve./

Tino squirmed, breaking from the other man's grasp. A troubled expression crossed over Arthur's face and he curled up into his blanket.

"Alone on Christmas..." Tino realised sadly. He watched the other nation toss and turn in his sleep.

The blond remembered something and dug a medium-sized box out from his cloak, labeled simply, "Tino." He replaced the tag with another and placed it next to the other present under the tree.

"He needs it more than I do," he murmured. He climbed back up the chimney and sat in his sleigh, ready to take off. "Let's just hope it works."

The next morning, Arthur shivered as he woke from slumber. He wiggled his toes, noting the cold air. /It's Christmas,/ he remembered with a start. The blond sat up, stretching uncomfortably, and looked at the tree where the two presents lay.

"Two...? That's new..." Arthur pulled himself up from the chair, silently scolding himself that he shouldn't he sleeping there in the first place, and walked over to the tree.

There was an emerald box with a tag reading his name on it, same as usual, but the other one didn't bear a name. Instead, it read simply, "make a wish."

Arthur pulled the ribbon of the box curiously, and light flashed as he pulled off the lid. What lay in the box, surrounded by a red velvet blanket, was a small kitten, just barely out of needing its mother. Arthur smiled softly and picked up the kitten, stroking the soft fur on its head. It looked up at him, green eyes almost a mirror of his own.

It then reached up and bit his finger.

Arthur gasped and pulled one hand away, but was so amused by the gift that he couldn't be mad at the feline.

The Brit gets this second present every year.


	3. Prussia x England

**A/N: I own nothing -w-**

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Chapter 3. Pruk

"Kesese! Eyebrows, you're a riot!"

Said 'eyebrows' was dead-drunk, and just about naked save for an apron covering his most vital regions. Currently, he was spinning and dancing around a pole like a professional.

The night had started out innocently. Well, at least more innocent than it was now. Arthur, along with Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio, were getting a few drinks. The Englishman had not been happy, at least not until he'd had a couple beers. One thing led to another and Antonio and Arthur had made a bet to see who would have to pole-dance.

And it wasn't Spain's ass being flashed every other second.

So while Francis was off flirting with whatever girl he could find, sending the occasional supportive whistle in Arthur's direction, and Antonio practically drowning in tomato wine, Gilbert's eyes were locked on the Brit's movements.

He acted as if he knew the pole better than he did a cup of tea. The way his hips swung, the way he grasped the pole in his hands, hell, the Brit's facial expressions were enough to keep Gilbert mesmerised.

Along with half of the other attendees of the bar.

Gilbert drifted into his own thoughts, many of vivid scenarios of how he could get the Brit into his pants. Because, damn. He was hot. It made Gil's pants tight just watching him.

A disappointed groan erupting from the audience that had formed caught Gilbert's attention and he looked back up to where Arthur was.

Or, had been. Now he was passed out on the floor, pretty much ending the show.

Gilbert turned to see Francis with two women on his arm. "Mon ami, would you mind taking Angleterre home? I'm, ah, busy now, and I would prefer that no one suspicious took him home..."

The albino raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to note the Frenchman's own sketchiness. He did care for Arthur, even if it was in a perverted way.

"Well why can't Toni..." His incomplete question was answered when he saw that the Spaniard was nowhere to be found. Probably off somewhere either passed out or on his way to Lovino's house. He had a tendency to do that as of late.

The Prussian went up to Arthur and poked him. No response. "All right, let's get you home." Gil scooped up the passed out drunk in his arms and left the bar after a short nod to Francis, before reaching his car. He put Arthur in the passenger seat and buckled him in before climbing in the driver's seat and starting the car.

After a short, silent drive, Gilbert parked his car in the driveway of Arthur's house. He carried the drunk inside(luckily the key was under the mat) and tucked him into bed upstairs.

The ex-nation ran a hand through his colorless locks and sighed. "You can be a lot of trouble, you know that, Eyebrows...?" He turned to leave, mostly satisfied but also left with a feeling of disappointment.

A tug on his retreating jacket stopped him. The drunk Englishman had a lustful, or perhaps it was just sleepy, look on his face as he tugged on the jacket once more. "Stayy with mee...~" he slurred, smiling at the sound of his words.

Gilbert sighed, a smile stretching his lips, and climbed under the covers of the bed. He wrapped an arm around Arthur's bare waist and pulled him close. In response, the blond gave a hum and snuggles close to him before losing himself to unconsciousness again. Gil sighed and gave a quick kiss to his forehead before going to sleep himself.

Now that the Prussian thought about it, he wouldn't have had it any other way.


	4. England x Belarus

Chapter 4. Beluk

"Stupid brother... he doesn't have to be such a jerk..."

Belarus sighed dejectedly and kicked her legs slowly, almost dipping her shoes in the water. Her hair hung lazily over the edge of the bridge where her head lay. She didn't even care that she was being soaked to the bone by rain.

The nation had been rejected by her brother. Again. But this time was probably the worst. She remembered how he had practically snapped, spitting insults her way and shooing her away like a meaningless fly.

It hurt, to know that the one she loved and idolized didn't feel the same, even going so far as to say he hated her. Natalya tried to convince herself it wasn't true, that Ivan had just been caught up in the moment and he really still loved her.

A tear slipped down her cheek and fell, disappearing among the other thousands of little raindrops. Yeah, right. Belarus now just wanted the World Meeting tomorrow to be done with so she could go home. She didn't want to see her brother now, in fear he'd break her heart even harder.

The rain on her back ceased and she brought herself to look up at the cause. A dark blue umbrella was being held over her head. Her eyes looked from that to the hand holding it over to the face of England.

"You're Belarus, yes? Russia's younger sister?"

Natalya felt her heart crumble at the sound of his name and she hugged her knees. She didn't have the energy to shoo him away. "Da... well, I was."

The British nation looked at her sympathetically and crouched to her level. "Is it all right if I ask what happened?"

Memories of earlier flashed through her mind and she struggled to hold back tears, dreading to show weakness to the other country. "I'm done!" the Russian had shouted, finding his voice and clutching a metal pipe tight in his hand. "I don't want to be scared of you any more! I hate you!" The words still stung like venom. "You are no longer my sister!"

Belarus wiped her eyes. "Big brother... he hates me..." she managed to say with a hiccup.

Arthur frowned. He knew that most nations feared this girl, even her brother. To outright say he hated her... The Englishman placed a hand on her back. "I am so sorry..."

The nation stiffened at the touch, unused to comfort. "Don't be. You wouldn't understand..."

Heartbreaking memories crossed through England's mind and he looked at her sadly. "I understand quite fine... I know it hurts. But you'll come back stronger. Maybe even better."

"I just want my brother back," Natalya sobbed, reaching out for comfort.

Arthur hugged her gently, abandoning the umbrella. "It's all right..."

After a while, Belarus pulled away, rubbing away her tears. "Why are you being so kind to me? I thought you would be afraid."

The answer came to the Englishman's mind almost immediately. "Because you remind me of myself. I know what it's like to lose a brother. I was heartbroken after the Revolution..."

Belarus blinked. "America."

He nodded. "I got over it. He wanted his independence, and he won it fair and square. It still hurts, but..." England smiled sadly. "It got better. And it will get better for you."

The girl nodded and wiped her eyes again. "Thank you. It still hurts, but I needed that."

Arthur smiled and offered his hand to her. "Let's get out of this dreadful rain, shall we?"

Natalya nodded. "I would like that."

And that's all she needed. A friend.


	5. France x England

**A/N: WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT! IF YOU DON'T LIKE, SKIP THIS CHAPTER! now that that's out of the way, enjoy -w-**

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Chapter 5. Fruk

Arthur was sick of it. Today, a certain Frenchie was pushing his buttons far too much, making him just want to scream and leave the meeting. Multiple insults stabbed at his appearance(mostly his eyebrows) mixed in with constant flirting and suggestive touches was too much for the younger man, in more ways than one. Sure, that alone should not have done it, considering he's gone much farther before, but the Brit had been awake all of last night trying to finish his paperwork, only to drop it all in a puddle outside in the parking lot. Today was not his day. At least the meeting was held in Italy, and he'd be home by tomorrow night without much hassle.

A pinch brought him from his thoughts. He sent a death glare to Francis, who was just drawing his hand away from the Brit's ass. His breathing had become ragged, and it took a lot of self control to calm himself down. The Frenchman looked like he had gotten his drift.

The other nations weren't paying them any attention. Neither of the meeting's hosts were keeping order, Veneziano having gone to make pasta with Germany following close behind, and Romano trying to eat his tomato in peace, only to have Spain hanging off one of his shoulders. Prussia and America were fighting again to see who was better, either at being awesome or heroic. Sweden had tried to take control of the meeting, but was dragged away by Denmark to god-knows-where. Switzerland was yelling at Japan again, who was trying so desperately to get South Korea's hands off his chest. Poor Latvia was being used as a teddy bear by a sleeping Greece with Estonia trying and failing to help. Sealand and Seychelles were going around squirting people in the face, which no one really appreciated except for them, and Poland was trying to get Lithuania to wear a pink miniskirt, again. Also, Russia and China were gone, and so was Hungary... odd...

Things went worse when Sealand decided to douse an entire bucket over England's head, effectively soaking him with a loud splash. All went silent. The only noise filling the room was the grinding of Arthur's teeth. Peter backed away slowly. Instead of hitting the boy, the Englishman took a breath and stood before departing the room quietly.

Sealand frowned. "Well, everyone, I broke England."

France waved it off and stood. "Angleterre is just having a bad day. I'll go talk to him."

The boy snorted. "Good luck on coming out alive."

It took a while, but Francis had finally found the Brit, with a damp trail and strings of colourful curse words leading him to the bathroom. England was wringing out his dress shirt into the sink, unsuccessfully trying to get it dry. He glanced at the Frenchman for a second before turning back to his task.

"A perfectly good suit... ruined."

"It's just a little water, non?"

"Still. Who knows how long until I can get these properly dried."

France moved closer to him. "Are you okay, mon cher...?"

England glared at him, embarrassed. "Don't call me that," he spat, "and I'm perfectly fine. Just a bit frustrated, is all."

The older man chuckled and moved closer just to spite the other. "But you're always frustrated~"

"You don't understand. This is different," the Brit murmured with a blush. "I don't just want to be-" His words were cut off by a very sudden, and very heated kiss. It was quite a while before it was broken in favour of air.

Francis smirked, pinning the other against a wall. "You of all people should know I understand perfectly fine~" he replied, running a finger down Arthur's bare chest before playing lazily with one of his nipples. "How long has it been, a month...? Non, it's been longer than that, hasn't it?"

England grinned despite the very obvious blush on his face and pulled the Frenchman closer. "Just shut up and fuck me..."

A few heated kisses and desperate moans later brought them both near naked on the bathroom floor. Francis pulled away from Arthur's neck, admiring his work with the tiny roses blooming on the pale skin. "Not the most romantic place to do it, oui~?" he noted.

A laugh erupted from the other's chest. "You and I both know we've had it worse."

The French nation feigned a sigh. "Maybe if someone wasn't so desperate all the time...~"

England bit his lip when a hand snuck under the waistband of his boxers and played with the treasure inside. He honestly did not mind when Francis touched him. He wasn't sure however, if it was his hate or love for the man that fuelled his passion for France. Lately it had been harder for him to act angry towards the other, today being an exception of course.

Events of the day were soon forgotten. A finger eased its way into Arthur's entrance, followed shortly by a second. Francis's skilled fingers scissored him, earning many moans from the Brit. Soon, a third and final finger was added and the fingers pumped him expertly.

"G-God, Francis... don't stop..." England exhaled with a low groan, squirming under the older man's touch. He obliged, moving in and out for a while more until finally he pulled out his fingers and properly pulled away both England's and his own boxers.

Francis positioned himself properly, aligning his needy member with the Brit's entrance. "Ready...?" Arthur nodded and bit his lip. France entered him slowly, pausing when the head was almost completely inside. Every single time would he remind himself how much better England felt compared to a woman. Not that he'd ever admit it. Soon enough, his entire length had been taken in, earning a low whine from the younger. "All right, mon cher...?"

England nodded and grit his teeth, adjusting to the Frenchman's size like so many times before. "Just move..." he managed in an almost strained voice.

"You're such a sadist~" Francis teased, moving slowly in and out of him before developing a steady rhythm.

"Oh shush... ah~!" England's warning soon turned to a delighted moan when pain subsided to pleasure. The Frenchman took that into account and started to thrust faster and harder into the other man. Soon after, a loud moan escaped the uke's lips as that one spot was hit rather hard. "F-Fuck...! There!"

France thrusted again, knowing that neither of them would last much longer judging by the all too familiar warmth coiling in his lower stomach. A few thrusts later and he felt himself release, squirting his seed deep into Arthur. The Brit came soon after with a loud moan, his own seed spilling and collecting on his stomach. Francis pulled out slowly, rolling over onto the cold floor next to Arthur. They kissed for a while, before Arthur pulled away and sat up, wiping the white sticky substance from his abdomen.

"We should be getting back to the meeting soon."

Francis smiled and took the other's hands before licking his fingers clean and earning a prominent blush. Arthur ripped his hands away in embarrassment, and reached for his boxers along with his pants.

The older nation sighed as he watched England get dressed and leave. "Je t'aime, Angleterre. Someday, maybe you will too..." he murmured to himself.

As he departed out the room, Arthur couldn't help but wipe away hints of tears as he heard probably imaginary words echo after him. "I'm sorry France... But you know I love you too." The words were barely a whisper left behind.

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**A/N: I am so sorry you guys, I barely got this chapter in on time. I was away all day for my birthday *little happy dance* and didn't have time to submit it until now. It's still the fifth where I live though, so take that challenge. Ha.**


	6. Denmark x England

**A/N: I still own nothing~**

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6. Denuk

The last thing England expected was for Denmark to approach him after the World Meeting.

"You. Me. Drinking contest."

The Brit raised his eyebrow, interest piqued. After a moment of consideration, he grinned. "First to get hammered, or first to pass out?"

The other smirked. "A drinking contest isn't fun unless someone passes out, isn't it?"

Soon enough the two were at the nearest pub. Somewhere on the way, Prussia had joined them, volunteering to be referee.

When asked why he wouldn't be drinking, the albino simply replied, "Kese. A drinking contest is meant for two. Und just watching will be fun."

So it was settled. Gilbert would order the drinks two at a time, and whoever passed out first would pay for them all.

The first drink had come; beer. The Dane took it all in one gulp, and the Brit in three. Denmark raised an eyebrow in interest. "I didn't know you had that much in you!"

England wiped his lip and smirked. "Never underestimate your opponent."

The next few rounds went the same. By now, England was buzzed. But he was downing beers faster, matching the other blond's speed.

Prussia chuckled and ordered three beers this time, taking one for himself. By now Mathias was also getting a bit on the tipsy side.

A few more rounds and Arthur had all but lost himself to drunkenness. But, as he was still standing, the contest kept on. Though, it slowed somewhat when the Dane had become drunk as well.

"S'pretty."

"What?"

England giggled and pointed. "Yer hair."

Denmark laughed. "I work hard on it! Your eyebrows are pretty too." He pointed at one.

The shorter one grinned and took a swig of his beer before lying his head on the table. "Th're nice..."

Mathias laughed again and gulped down another beer. "You talk like Sve when you're drunk!"

The Brit ran a finger around the rim of his mug. "S'kinda hard t' talk..."

The other nation looked around. Prussia was no where to be found, and the entire place was probably half as empty as it was before. He looked back to England, who looked ready for sleepy-time. Denmark grinned and downed the rest of his beer, plus the rest of England's.

"Later, eyebrows~" Denmark said with a grin, patting the other's back and leaving the pub. England just smiled and drifted into unconsciousness.


	7. Japan x England

**A/N: *cries because of short chapter* Oh well. Enjoy. I'll try harder on tomorrow's chapter, I promise!**

**I still own nothing.**

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Chapter 7. Asakiku

Kiku had kinks. Arthur accepted that just fine, considering his own fetishes. But this one was just odd.

"So how do I... like this?"

"Hai."

"And what do I call you? Flea, was it?"

That's right. The Japanese wanted the two of them to cosplay. And from something completely unfamiliar to the blond man.

He himself had been dressed in a traditional bartender's outfit consisting of a pair of black pants, a white dress shirt, and a black vest, with a pack of cigarettes fit snugly into one pocket. The Brit lit one lazily, vision tinted blue from his new glasses, while trying to cradle a plastic stop sign under one arm. Kiku's own outfit was a bit simpler, with a black shirt and pants under a jacket with lined fur. On one finger was a ring with an intricate design.

"That's right... Shizu-chan." In a split second Kiku's face changed from his usual neutral one to a devious smirk. Arthur raised an eyebrow in suspicion, then in surprise as the other rushed at him at impressive speed and grace. He didn't know what had happened next until he felt the familiar warmth of blood trickle down his cheek. Kiku came at him again, but Arthur learned and defended with his stop sign.

They continued like that for quite a bit, Kiku attacking and Arthur defending without trying to hurt him.

Kiku slowed, twirling a pocketknife expertly around his fingers. "Arthur-san, you aren't very much in character," he said softly, breaking out of his own character for a second.

Arthur frowned and looked at his poor stop sign, which had received a healthy amount of damage. "I really do not get this at all. And I'm bleeding as well..."

The raven's smirk returned. "That's the spirit of it though~" he replied with a surprising purr. "We'll fight for a while, you'll get mad, and we'll have wonderful sex~" Kiku didn't even falter or become flustered by the last word as he usually would.

Arthur decided that alone was scarier than Russia himself.

More than a handful of cuts and bruises later, Arthur lit another cigarette, a now regular habit after their intercourse. Kiku lay next to him, peacefully asleep.

_Even though I must admit it was fun, my arse will probably be pretty sore tomorrow, _Arthur thought._ Note to self: research a couple animes before cosplaying with Kiku again._


	8. Switzerland x England

**A/N: I am so sorry I didn't submit yesterday, something was wrong with gmail on my laptop. Also I'm in a bit of a writer's block right now. I promise chapter nine will be longer, better, and up before the end of today~!**

**I own nothing.**

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Chapter 8. Switzuk

Vash hated when meetings were held in England. He would have liked to think that he and the Brit were alike in where they didn't like to interact with most of the world.

But, the Swiss had other feelings about the other, preventing them from being anything close to resembling friends.

First of all, Vash didn't like that the Brit practically didn't have any balls. Sure, he could spew insults and everything better than the next guy, but Arthur never actually /did/ anything past a few threats sent towards a certain Frenchman or American.

Also, he was friends with Japan. The man who was so easily manipulative it wasn't funny.

And then there was his cooking. Whenever food was served during a meeting, many nations would just politely nudge them away and off the table. Switzerland once made the mistake of actually trying a chocolate dessert that the Brit had made. And losing his lunch in the bathroom soon after.

Really, anything cooked by England made Vash cringe. But there was one dish that just made his blood boil.

As usual, about an hour into the meeting, England's "chefs" would come in carrying many platters. But, what called Switzerland's attention was the many brownish-yellow balls skewered by toothpicks.

They were not acceptable cheese balls. Far, far from it. It made Vash absolutely infuriated.

Oh, Arthur paid for it all right. With an anonymous grenade at his doorstop the next morning. And every morning after that for the next few weeks.

No one messes with Vash's cheese and gets away with it the easy way.


	9. England x Spain

**A/N: Okay, seriously. I'm trying to get out of this writer's block and next chapter will be better and longer, sobs.**

**I own nothing.**

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Chapter 9. Spuk  
England didn't like Spain. Spain didn't like England. It was understood that they did not enjoy each other's company. Ever since their pirate days, there's still been some sort of rivalry between them. Not as strong as ages-old hatred between France and England, but still. While England showed his disdain for the other almost obviously, it was harder to tell when Spain was acting rude to the Englishman.

Alcohol changed that quickly.

Spain liked wine, while England preferred beer. But, alcohol was alcohol. Usually an hour into drinking, they would be looser around each other. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worst. Nights varied from friendliness to violent arguments to even sex. And lots of it. It had grown into a very loose hate-love relationship.

"Tomato wanker."

"Scone loco."

"C'mere..." the blond snarled, pulling the other into a kiss.

Spain grinned and pulled him closer. "I'm too irresistible, I know..."

"Shut up," England replied with a smirk. "I'm in charge tonight." He proved his point by straddling the other's hips.

The Spaniard shrugged with a smile. "I don't feel like topping anyway~"

"Arrogant git," England mumbled as they kissed once again.

The blond made sure Spain's ass would hurt like a bitch in the morning. Oh, England would be wanting it that way for a while.


	10. Italy x England

Chapter 10. Itauk

Feliciano set down his cooking materials and looked at the people in front of him. It was routine for him now to teach a cooking class thrice a week. What he didn't expect was for Arthur Kirkland to be sitting there, front and center.

"Ciao... Arthur," Feli started, running options through his head that wouldn't end in the room on fire. "I haven't seen you here before."

The Englishman grumbled, embarrassed. "There's absolutely no need for me to be here. My cooking is fine enough as it is, but that git Alfred made me take a class. I'm just here to observe."

Feli smiled in relief. "Okie dokie. We were just going to make pasta today. Nothing new."

The class preceded to make pasta, Feli going around the room and helping whoever was having trouble. He kept stealing glances at Arthur, who looked uncomfortable sitting and watching with... was that jealousy?

"Artie, did you want to make pasta too?" the Italian offered nervously.

Arthur sputtered and turned his head. "I'd rather not, but I guess I could just to be polite."

Feliciano blinked. "I can help you if you want."

He saw the blond's shoulders relax for a second, maybe in relief, and manage a smile. "I would like that."

Feli smiled. "Okay, then. First we have to make the dough."

"Dough...?" the Brit asked, confused. "I would have thought pasta came in a box."

Feli rolled his eyes and got out a bag of flour. "Not traditional pasta. Can you get me two eggs?"

Arthur nodded and got the required ingredients. The Italian made a healthy mound of flour onto the table, and cracked the eggs into a convenient space in the middle.

"Now you mix the eggs with your finger like this," the brunet instructed, showing Arthur what to do. "And with your other hand you make sure not to let the eggs run over the sides.

"Wouldn't it be cleaner to use a bowl or something?" Arthur asked, rolling up his sleeves.

The other man grinned. "Si, but this way is more fun!" Once Feli was satisfied with the dough, he stopped Arthur. "That's good. Now we knead the dough."

Arthur nodded and cracked his knuckles. "I can do this. I just use my fingers, and-"

Feli shook his head. "Not just your fingers. You can use the balls of your hands, and your elbows too." He placed his hands over Arthur's and helped him knead it properly. The blond went stiff, not used to the touch, but soon relaxed and helped him knead the dough. "The best part is throwing down the dough. Sometimes it even bounces!"

Arthur blinked. "And why would we want to do that...?"

Feli grinned and picked up the dough, then threw it back onto the table. "It helps make it more elastic. Plus, it's fun! You try it!"

Arthur picked up the dough carefully, then threw it onto the table with a satisfying thump. He cracked a grin.

"Good," the Italian encouraged. "That should be good. And, in a half hour, we can start rolling it."

Arthur nodded. "Seems simple enough."

Feli went and got what looked to be a machine with two stainless steel rollers. "Do you know how to use a pasta machine?"

Arthur blinked and stared at the contraption for a moment.

Feli giggled. "I'll take that as a no. You put the dough through here, and roll it out until it's thin enough. The dough doesn't get wider though, so you have to be careful."

Arthur nodded slowly as the Italian pointed to the machine as he talked. And, soon enough, he understood completely what the machine did. Together they rolled out the dough into thin strips, then paid them out on paper towels to dry. Everything was going fairly smoothly until the Brit cut himself when cutting the pasta.

"Ouch!" Arthur exclaimed before holding his finger up to examine it. It wasn't bad, but now a small red bead had begun to well up at the cut.

"Let me see," Feliciano murmured, taking the other's hand gently. He dug through his pockets shortly before coming up with a small band-aid. He put it over Arthur's cut, gave a comforting smile, and kissed the band-aid. "All better."

Arthur drew his finger away, embarrassed. "...Thank you."

The brunet smiled. "It's no problem. I'm usually pretty clumsy, so I've taken to carrying around a few band-aids."

Arthur turned back to cutting the pasta, making sure to be more careful. "That's pretty smart, actually."

Feli nodded. "It comes in handy." He got out a pot and began to fill it with water. He then set it on a portable stove. "When you finish cutting, we can let the noodles dry, and then cook the pasta."

When that was done, Feliciano helped Arthur drain the pasta. Arthur took a noodle and ate it, satisfied. Feli did the same and smiled. "It's good."

The blond smiled. He couldn't remember the last time someone had complimented his cooking, even if it wasn't entirely his. "Thank you."

And so pasta went on the list of the few things the Brit could cook successfully. It made Arthur think of Feliciano whenever he made it, too.


	11. An apology to my followers

**A/N: I am so sorry but I am on a short hiatus right now because I'm grounded and I have limited access to the internet. I'll be posting new chapters for this fic as soon as possible, which might be a few weeks.**

**Thanks for understanding~!**


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